Stranger Things
by rogoblue
Summary: Sierra is involved in an intense engagement. DeWitt sends Dominic and Topher to monitor the situation. Set between whenever Sierra’s handler was handled by November I forget and Spy in the House of Love.


Story: Stranger Things

Rating: M

Author: Rogoblue

Summary: Sierra is involved in an intense engagement. DeWitt sends Dominic and Topher to monitor the situation. Set between whenever Sierra's handler was handled (I forget) and Spy in the House of Love.

Spoilers: Season 1 and very, very slightly for Epitaph 1.

Disclaimers: The toys are Joss Whedon's. The idea is mine.

Dedication: To Susan on her birthday—thanks for all the comments and questions.

Pairing: Dominic/Topher (it had to be done, I hoped someone else would do it but things couldn't be left as they are), Sierra/OC

_He's wearing the headphones, listening in. I'm manning the equipment, monitoring vitals. Makes sense division of labor-wise. If only he hadn't loosened his tie, unbuttoned those top two shirt buttons and draped his designer jacket over the back of his chair, I'd be able to concentrate. I wouldn't be looking at the exposed flesh of his throat and wondering how he'd taste if I licked along the path of that bead of sweat meandering down the column of his neck (damn—it's hot in this van). Wondering what Laurence Dominic would do if I made a move on him. Other than draw his sidearm and end my life, I mean. _"What's happening?" I ask without real interest in the answer.

"What do you think is happening, Topher," Dominic growls, looking at me with utter contempt. Again. "Another variation of what's been happening."

_Sierra is screwing the guy blind for his information. A drama in three acts. Or will it be five?_ Smiling, I look at my monitor. Now I frown. "I'm getting an odd spike here," I say. "Not a sex thing, something else. Look," I say as I point. "It's predominantly blue. Excitement is more red."

"There's nothing but sex going on in there, Topher."

_What's that? An edge in Dom's tone. An uptick in his respiration rate."_

"Gimme the headphones," I say. "I need to identify the blue."

"No, I'm on this," Dominic says, turning away.

"Are they talking?" I ask.

Those blue blue eyes burn into me. "Sounds, Topher. A lot of sounds. The occasional word or phrase of direction. No conversation."

_Is that deep voice a tiny bit unsteady, ever so slightly shaky. Is listening to this … negotiation of Sierra's getting to Laurence? Holy crap, are the dulcet tones of Sierra sex going to present me with an opportunity of the golden nature? _"We're getting more blue, Laurence," I say. "This isn't right."

"She isn't into it as much as the guy is," Dominic says. "Her responses are late. She's overanalyzing the scenario."

Nodding, not willing to admit to being impressed, I say, "That could explain things, but the imprint should smooth that out."

"It won't," Dominic says, tapping the console with a pen.

_Suddenly, he's an expert?_

"You made her a secret agent with the skills of a high class prostitute," Laurence says. "Her secret agent aspect has to dominate if she's going to steer the pillow talk, assuming they ever get around to any, in appropriate directions." Frowning, Laurence drops the pen and raises a hand to one of earpieces of his headphones.

A few heartbeats later, I force myself to look at my monitor. _Crap! _"I'm getting pain, Laurence," I say.

"He slapped her."

"More pain, Laurence."

"That one sounded like a fist."

"Shouldn't we … I mean shouldn't you … do something," I say. _For Sierra. To me. Whatever works for you, Laurence._

"Not yet," Dominic says, even as he unsnaps his holster, draws and checks his sidearm.

"Do we wait for broken bones now?" I say, watching his hands move over his weapon, not, definitely not, imagining them on me.

"Sometimes," he says.

His eyes are on me again. "Sometimes?" I squeak.

He smiles. _Laurence Dominic smiled at me. When did he find the time to be possessed by a smiling demon? Must've been when on An Assignment Vital to the Security of the Dollhouse a month ago._ For the thousandth time, I imagine sticking my tongue out at Adelle DeWitt as she'd said those words in her most British voice whenever anyone asked about Dominic that week.

Laurence says, "I think Sierra would refuse rescue at the moment."

"You actually think?" I say, automatically arguing because that's what I do with Dominic. _He's still smiling. Something's not right. I'm dreaming. I must be. What's he doing? Don't wake up, Topher. Don't wake up._

Dominic had slid his chair next to mine. He takes off his headset and increases the volume, making Sierra's sexy laugh audible.

"It's ok, baby," she purrs. "I need to get rough to get into it sometimes too." Sierra laughs and we hear what sounds like a slap. A grunt of pain. A moan. More slaps.

"Is she the … the …?" I ask.

"Aggressor," Dominic says. "For now."

"Stop, you crazy bitch! Stop."

"But why?" Sierra whispers. "You like it. I feel how much you like it." Another laugh from Sierra.

_You go, girlfriend! Your laugh is getting under the collar of our esteemed chief of security. Your voice is doing a number on him as well. Carry on._

"I hate you." I smile and he smirks at the lack of conviction in the man's voice.

"I'm going to taste how much you hate me, baby" Sierra says.

Laurence shifts position in his ergonomically perfect chair. I do the same in mine. With a small sigh, Laurence lowers the volume and puts the headphones on his head. I silently cheer when he leaves his chair in its new, vastly preferable location. I watch my monitor for a few minutes. _Sierra's reading uber tease. She's going to string this guy along for a while. What's the right call here?_ Making my decision, I tap Dominic on the arm.

Taking off the head phones, Laurence says, "What?"

"Sierra's in this for the long haul, Laurence. You might as well take a break." In fascination, I watch him toss the headphones on the desk, lean back in his chair, close his eyes.

_He looks relaxed, detached, every inch the Mr. Dominic of Adelle DeWitt's dreams, but I know Sierra started his engine. Does anyone really have that much self control? _I catch myself staring at him and my heart stops. When I realize his eyes are still closed, it starts beating again. _Ok, so everyone has more self control than me, but this is over the top. Can he be so repressed that he can de-lust in less than a minute? What a shame that would be._ I look at my monitor. Same old, same old. I want to hear his voice, but we've never really had anything approaching a civil conversation._ There's a first time for everything. I hope. _I clear my throat. "She's hot, isn't she?" I whisper. Dominic opens one eye. I specify, "Sierra."

"Don't pull a Hearn, Topher," Dominic advises, voice low, bored.

"I'm not," I say. "I wouldn't do that. It's just, if I had the money and the courage, you know." Brightening as though I've just had the idea, I ask, "What about you, Laurence? If you were a client, who'd you choose?"

Dominic looks away but not fast enough and I laugh. "Sierra," I announce. "Why didn't I see it sooner? You totally get her when she's in secret agent mode." I think I see a flinch, but I couldn't have. _No one changes expressions that fast._ "What would you do?" I ask.

"Do?" Laurence asks.

_I've seen the wary on that face around DeWitt. Me—I get the hostile, the annoyed and the pissed off. This is a very pleasant change._ "With Sierra, I mean. What kind of imprint would you want?"

Staring at the ceiling of the van, Dominic says, "I don't pay for sex, Topher."

"What if no money changed hands?" I take the risk of a nervous laugh. _Well, ok, so it just came out without forethought. Sue me. I'm nervous._ "What if Saunders thought it was medically necessary for you to lose some tension and DeWitt decided sex was the most expedient method?"

"I'd tell Adelle to go to hell."

"Really?"

"I have zero interest in having sex with an active." Dominic stops in mid reach for the headphones. "I want my partners to be real. I don't know how anyone working at the Dollhouse could feel differently."

"I think I do," I whisper.

"Do you? I'd have thought you of all people wouldn't."

_I'd have thought you of all people wouldn't have ever given me an instant of thought beyond the absolutely necessary. _"Me of all people?" I say, trying to sound offended. "What does that mean?"

"You make them want the clients on every level, in every way imaginable," Laurence says. "The actives don't have a choice. They're going to do the clients and be ecstatic about it until they forget it ever happened."

_He's looking me in the eye with … dare I say interest. _

"Don't you want your partner to have a choice and to choose you?" Laurence asks. "Isn't that what the whole thing is really about? The choice."

_Partner not woman? Is it wrong to read a whole helluva lot into that choice—his choice of word? _"What sort of … person would you want to choose you?" I ask. _He laughs. I made Laurence Dominic laugh!_

"You hesitate before pairing me with a person?" Laurence says, shaking his head. "I hope you were at least thinking of a mammal."

_A male mammal, if you want to be precise, Laurence._ "What sort of mammal then?" I ask with an agreeable sunny smile.

Laurence opens his mouth to speak but changes his mind. "You first," he says after a momentary pause. "What sort of … mammal would you want to choose to take you to bed, Topher?"

"For the record, I prefer my own species, Laurence." _Got another smile. Small, fleeting, not really softening his expression much, but it was a smile._ "I'd want my partner to be smart, not about neuroscience specifically, but in general. I want someone I could talk to about anything. What's so funny?"

_He actually looks away. Laurence Dominic plus hesitant does not compute. _"What, Laurence?" I ask.

"Nothing," Laurence mutters, reaching for the headphones. "I should get back to it."

I look at my monitor. "If sounds of slurping appeal to you, knock yourself out," I say.

Lowering his head, Laurence sighs. "I was going to make a comment about how little conversation generally goes on in bed, but then I remembered who I was talking to."

Eyes narrowing dramatically, I wait.

"You talk all the time. Hell, you interrupt Adelle DeWitt routinely." Gesturing vaguely with the headphones, Laurence says, "So why wouldn't you want a conversationalist?"

"I don't get the funny," I say.

"The thought isn't. Actually having that thought cross my mind is."

I laugh and make a second decision. "My partner would definitely need a sense of humor," I say.

"How else could they put up with you?" Laurence mutters.

"I heard that."

"Really?" Laurence says, voice brimming with sarcasm. "I'll be more careful next time."

"I think sarcastic is sexy," I say.

"You do?" Laurence asks.

_Surprised you into exploring the issue further. Do I rock or what?_ "One of my … mammals claimed they could make me hard with sarcasm alone."

_You clearly don't want to ask, but will you if I play the patient card?_ Laurence raises an eyebrow at me. I smile.

He rolls his eyes and sighs. "And?" he asks.

"They cheated."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Exactly," I say, wondering what the memory of that fabulous blow job changed in my expression, because Laurence went all narrow eyed, analytical. The instant those blue eyes widened, I laugh. "The mammal with the golden tongue. Another attribute I'd like in my partner. It's not an absolute necessity, but it … um … wouldn't suck."

"So to speak," Laurence says, shaking his head.

"Sardonic works for me too," I say, smiling. _This is actually fun._

"What doesn't?" Dominic asks.

"Pain, violence, bondage," I say. _Ok, which of those words made him laugh? This could be a little scary. _"You're laughing because …?"

"I don't think you could talk if you couldn't move your hands and that would defeat the purpose of having someone you could talk to, so you were making narrow minded sense."

"I'm not narrow minded."

"A no pain, violence or bondage policy is limiting," Laurence says. "And I have no idea how long your list of don'ts was going to be, because you stopped when I laughed."

_Not a perfect set up, but close. Thank you, Laurence._ "I'd do a guy," I say, bold and defiant Topher.

"Good for you," Laurence says.

"What?" I say. "Is the big bad chief of security a homophobe?" Putting my hand on Laurence's shoulder, I look up at him with my best puppy dog eyes. "Say it isn't so?"

"It isn't so." I breathe an exaggerated sigh of relief. Amused blue eyes assess me. "What sort of guy would you do?" he asks.

_Oh my God! He didn't just say that? Ask that? Did he? The smirk says he did._ "Someone exactly like you," I say.

* * *

_Topher would do me. Ok. Didn't see that coming._ "Why, Topher?" I ask. "You don't like me. I don't like you. It's been open hostility from the word go."

"What does like have to do with want?" Topher asks.

"I find them to coincide fairly often," I say, wondering if there's an angle I can use in Topher's interest in me.

"What's fairly often?" Topher asks, smiling in that borderline manic way of his. "How many mammals have you been with since you started at the Dollhouse?"

_Be careful, Dom. Who knows what Topher will do with the information you give him?_ "Three," I say. "I liked them all."

"Three little girl mammals?" Topher says, tone gleeful.

"Can we just say women?" I ask, letting annoyance come through loud and clear.

"Three hot babes?" Topher says, voice low and intense, sounding not like him at all.

_This has to be one of the strangest days of this stranger than bizarre assignment. _Not at all sure I'm making the right decision, I say, "One hot babe. One intellectual with a wild streak. One extremely creative single mom."

"How'd DeWitt take her eyes and ears eyeing and listening to several someone elses?"

"Who says she knew?" I say, picking up my pen and a pad of paper to give my hands something to do.

"Are you kidding?" Topher says. "She knows everything about everyone."

I smile. "Not quite everything." Sketching a rough floor plan of how I'd like to have my condominium remodeled, I say, "Not about me."

"She has our homes wired, Laurence. Offices, hallways, utility closets, bathrooms. How can she not know?"

"And who is chief of security again?" I say. "I think someone forgot."

Topher frowns and makes a grab for my pen. I move it out of his reach. "She doesn't have your condo equipped with feeds for surround sound and crystal clear high definition?" Topher asks.

"Of course she does," I say. "How do you know I have a condo?"

Topher looks away and I decide I really don't want an answer to my question. "That's why it pays to have a house or an apartment or both she doesn't know about," I say.

Topher's eyes grow huge. "You have a house, an apartment or both DeWitt doesn't know about?"

"Did I say that?" I say, enjoying dishing out some annoyance rather than taking it. Shaking my head, I add, "I don't recall speaking about multiple residences and I'll deny the subject ever came up."

"So you got private time with the females three. Wow. Like, never all at once, right?"

I laugh. "The hot babe would never have gone for a foursome. Everything was about her. The highest in high maintenance. She was exhausting."

"Memory made you smile though," Topher says, tone wistful enough to turn a weaker stomach. "Which one did you like the best?" he asks.

_I don't trust the gleam in Topher's eye. _"What does it matter?" I ask.

"Doesn't," Topher says, fiddling with his console, blinking at his monitor a few times. "Have you ever slept with a guy?" Topher asks.

_Time to lie._ "No."

"Wanted to?"

"No."

"Thought about it?"

I shrug. "I'm sure I must have at some point or another, but I don't recall specifically. What about you, Topher? How many men have you slept with?"

"None."

"Excuse me?" I say, suddenly at a complete conversational loss—a personal first. _This should've happened with Adelle, not Topher._

"Just …" Topher says, holding up a hand, wiggling his fingers, smiling. Then he points to his head, parts his lips and licks them. "Never the full monty."

_He's looking expectantly at me. What the hell does he expect? More importantly, how would Laurence Dominic react? Simplicity itself._ I laugh. Developing an intense interest in the floor of the van, I stop. I look over at Topher and laugh again. _Topher's unsettled. Perfect._ "I knew Sierra was getting to me," I say, biting the inside of my cheek to avoid laughing again. "But I'd never have dreamt she'd inspire you to impure thoughts of a sexual nature about me."

"Why wouldn't I have impure thoughts of a sexual nature about you?" Topher demands as though I'd insulted him.

"Why would you?" I ask without thinking, something I should never ever do.

Topher's smile develops slowly. He leans into my personal space, eyes alight with mischief. _Laurnence. Dominic would never back down, not to Topher, even if it was prudent._ I scowl.

Topher laughs, a light happy sound. "Where to begin?" Topher muses with a sigh. "Voice. Eyes. Shoulders. Ass." Grinning, he says, "That's the short list, Laurence."

I take a deep breath. "We should get back to Sierra," I say.

Topher glances at his monitor. "The tease continues," he says.

"Still?" I mutter, failing to keep a visual image of Sierra on her knees out of my head. _Get a grip, Dom. You can do this._

Grinning, Topher offers the headphones. "Go ahead. Put them back on. I like what her voice does to you."

With only the slightest hesitation, I accept his challenge.

"What's wrong, baby?" Sierra says. "Are you … uncomfortable?" The man's breathing rate approaches hyperventilation. "Is there anything … anything at all … I can do to make you feel the tiniest bit better?"

"Please," is all the man can muster.

Sierra's sexy laugh flows through me. Instinctively, I pull off the headphones and reach for my gun when I feel hands on my shoulders.

"Hold on, Laurence," Topher says. "Take it easy, L-man. Just a massage, I swear."

_The little bastard actually has the nerve to smirk at me!_ I scowl again, putting more effort into it this time.

"You look tense, Laurence," Topher says. "A massage, using techniques learned from girlfriends only. Ok?"

"No."

"C'mon, Laurence. We're both adults here."

"You're not," I say.

Topher laughs. "You're not afraid of a massage, are you?"

"No," I say. "Doesn't mean I want one from you."

He smiles and puts his hands to work on my shoulders. Muttering under my breath, I put the headphones back on just in time to hear Sierra moan. "Christ," I whisper.

"That was nice, baby, lick my nipple again," Sierra murmurs. "Oh, yeah, just like that. That's exactly how I want you to put your tongue on me. Do it again. More." I concentrate on tuning out her more rapid breathing and soft whimpers of pleasure. I'm doing fine until something gives in my shoulders, I relax and lose my focus.

"Now, if you're a good boy and do that to my other breast, I'll touch you again," Sierra says. "I'll make you scream for me."

"Now," the man groans. "Touch me now."

"Don't be so needy, baby." Sierra's tone sharpens. "Kills my mood."

"Where are you going?" the man says.

"Out on the balcony for a smoke," Sierra says.

"Like that?"

"Yes."

_Don't describe it. Don't tell me what she is or isn't wearing. Just don't._

"What's wrong baby?" Sierra asks, tone knowing and amused. "Are you ashamed of me? Of my body?"

"I duh … don't … want … I … you … mine … please."

"Pull yourself together," Sierra demands. "You're starting to bore me."

Thumbs pressing along the base of my neck release something deep within me. The thumbs move up a fraction of an inch and apply the same pressure. Another fraction of an inch, more pressure, the headache I've grown accustomed to over the last few months begins to lose hold. I give myself over to the hands on my neck and my headache becomes a thing of the past.

The headphones shift slightly. A soft voice asks, "Better?"

"Yeah," I mumble, leaning back into the massage. "Headache's gone."

"Good," whispers the voice. "How's Sierra?"

"Smoking," I say. He laughs. I frown. "Bad for her health," I say.

"Oh, you meant a cigarette," he says.

_He? Fuck. Topher. _Just as I decide to move, Topher drags his thumbs back along the line of my neck he'd just massaged. My head falls back of its own accord. "Damn," I say.

"Sorry," Topher whispers.

"Why?" I ask. _What the hell? Did Topher just kiss my forehead? Fuck, Dom. Focus._

"Are you ready to play or are you going to stay grumpy?" Sierra says.

_Grumpy. C'mon man. Have some pride. Stay fucking grumpy._

"I want to play, gorgeous," says Sierra's man. "You know I do. Bring your sexy lingerie over here."

"Come and get me," Sierra says. "On your knees."

"I am not going to get on my knees," the man snarls.

A soft, irritated feminine sigh comes through loud and clear. "Then I'll just have to take care of myself," Sierra murmurs. "I'd rather have your hands on me, but if you'd rather cling to your pride or whatever, that's your call. If you don't want to touch my thigh like this, stroke me until I can't stand it, until your touch makes me so hot I ache in a way only you can soothe, until I beg you to take me, until I—."

I pull the headphones off of my head and toss them in the general direction of the desk. "Christ almighty," I say.

"What's wrong?" Topher asks, big innocent eyes inches from mine.

"She's touching herself," I say.

"Where?" Topher asks, evincing polite interest.

Fighting to get my body and mind back to something resembling proper discipline, I mutter, "Her thigh."

Smiling angelically, Topher puts his hand on my thigh. I smack it away. He laughs. "What?" I snarl.

"I wanted to do that to DeWitt's perfectly manicured hand yesterday," Topher says. Grinning, he adds, "Slap it off of your arm." Topher's expression turns hard. "She was touching you like a possession. Like she always does. I hate that."

_Like she always does? Always? Oh shit! _"Topher, exactly how long has this been going on?" I ask. _Can a mammal look any more confused than he does right now? _"Your … um … prurient interest in me," I say.

Topher looks away, fingers flying over his console, bottom lip between his teeth. "A while," he eventually says.

Intuitively pressing the issue, I say, "Since when roughly?"

"Since Alpha went off the reservation," he whispers. "Everyone freaked out. There was blood all over the place. People were milling about, afraid. Out of their minds afraid." Finally looking me in the eye, Topher says, "Then you were there, moving fast, with a purpose, with a plan, with a fucking clue as to what you were doing. In those few minutes, I reevaluated everything. I understood what it meant to take security seriously and why someone might choose to do it even if I can't." Smiling, he adds, "I almost wept with relief when you spotted me standing there, caught Jennings' eye and pointed toward me."

"Protect the assets," I say with an offhand shrug. "I was too late to do anything for Saunders, Whiskey and the other actives." The memory stung. "I should've been faster."

"If you had been, Alpha would've gone after you," Topher says, shaking me by the shoulder. "And who would've restored order?"

"Anyone could've after the fact," I say.

"Even me?"

I laugh. "With Ivy as your mouthpiece, maybe," I say.

A not quite companionable but far from hostile silence fell. Topher sighs, body language indicating his arrival at some sort of decision. "The next time I saw you—at DeWitt's gathering of higher level personnel—you didn't agree with what boss lady was spewing forth but were trying to toe the party line. That's when I first really noticed your eyes, because you couldn't control them. They were hard, cold, disapproving and I realized you weren't an extension of DeWitt's will without a mind of your own and that you were smarter and a lot more observant than I'll ever give you credit for."

Aiming an utterly skeptical look at Topher, I wait. He leans forward, places his hands on my neck and does something amazing. I relax. I can't help it.

Mouth at my ear, Topher whispers, "The meeting went long. Everyone had something to drink, a second, then a third and got more casual as it wore on. Except you. You nursed a glass of Scotch for what had to be two and a half hours and were as starched collar, buttoned up when the meeting broke up as when it started. DeWitt held you back and I was left with all of my questions. Why should she get 24/7 access to you? Why did you wait until you could speak to her privately before openly disagreeing? Is there a sexual component when the two of you argue?" Topher makes some evaluative noise I can't interpret.

His hands shift on my neck and I groan. "That's a keeper," Topher whispers, sounding pleased, repeating the maneuver.

"Stop," I say with no conviction at all. My back muscles are pudding. Headache is gone. I feel fantastic in a 'you'll have to feed me those grapes, because I can't move right now' way.

"Stop what?" Topher asks, laughter unvoiced yet ever present. When I don't answer because I can't think of anything to say, Topher says, "That meeting is where I first noticed the shoulders. Broad, no longer tense shoulders, slim hips, what's not to like? And once the perusal of the slim hips begins, can an appreciation of a perfect ass be far behind? Answer, no."

"Topher," I manage. "You said DeWitt treated me like … Christ, that's incredible … like … um …"

"A possession," he says, anger in his tone. "You're no one's possession."

"Agreed."_ Agreeing with Topher? I'm coming unhinged. This assignment's gone on too long. Or I'm in too deep. Something. _

* * *

_Laurence Dominic putty in my hands? Has a stranger thing happened? Ever?_

"Headphones?" Laurence says, looking up at me with eyes harboring questions he hadn't and probably would never ask.

Smiling, I grab them from their precarious perch on the very edge of the desk and put them on his head. Going back to his neck and shoulders, I consider my next move. I get distracted by his restless movements. Silently cheering Sierra on, I wonder what Laurence would do if … Mustering my courage, I move to sit on the arm of his chair and approach his shoulders from the front. Thirty seconds later, I make my decision. _It makes perfect sense to get this silk tie imported from Italy out of my way. It's not like I'm undressing you or anything, Laurence. Don't stress. _I find myself staring at the buttons of his shirt. _Nope. Not ready to go there._ I eye the top fastened button with intense dislike. _I think I hate that button. Oh, man, that's over the top, even for me._

In an instant, Laurence is on his feet, hands clenched in a death grip on the edge of the desk, veins in his forearms standing out, head down, breathing hard. The headphones bounce off of my monitor and land on my chair.

"Laurence?" I say. "Are you ok?"

"No."

I rub the base of his spine, a gentle, repetitive, hopefully soothing motion. "Take a breath," I say. "What's the matter?"

"She …," he says. Belatedly taking my advice, Laurence inhales deeply and exhales slowly. "She's … Christ, Topher, what kind of crap did you put in that imprint?"

Wincing, I admit, "All the sex-type bells and whistles I could find, Laurence. Boss lady wanted all the bases covered."

Glaring, he mutters, "Where'd you get the bit where she talks him through jerking himself off but won't let him finish?"

Very quietly, I say, "That's in one of the dominatrix packages."

"One of the …" Laurence punches the side of the van. Looking at his hand as though it belonged to someone else, he says, "Why did I even bother to ask? It doesn't matter. What does when you're going to fucking explode?"

"Why we're here matters, Laurence," I say, continuing to rub his lower back. "Have you thought about that at all? Why did we draw good cop-bad cop Sierra handler duty?"

Some of the wild goes out of Dominic's eyes. "Why the two of us?" Laurence says.

I gesture grandly at the expanse of the van. "You, me, crammed together in here to watch over Sierra. Why?"

"She …," Dominic began. He bends over slightly to retrieve the headphones.

_I didn't check out his ass. I swear I didn't. Much._

"Sierra doesn't have a new handler yet," he says.

"Why both of us, Laurence?" I persist, because I think I know the answer. "You could do this in your sleep."

"I can't interpret that stuff," he says, pointing at my monitor with the headphones.

"For this purpose, you can," I say. "You'd know if the readings weren't meshing with what you heard." Taking a page out of Laurence's book, I stand right next to him. "So why are we both here?"

"Adelle's punishing me for my sins," he says. A ghost of a smile flitting across his face, Laurence says, "Or you."

Frowning, I say, "Punishing me for your sins puts major un in front of fair." _I'm so dialed in to his number. I made Laurence laugh again. _

"You have your own to atone for," Laurence says.

"Not enough to get me sequestered in high tech claustrophobic style with He Who Scowls," I say, wondering what aftershave Laurence uses. _Smells good, whatever it is._

"I don't know, Topher. Who knows why Adelle does a tenth of the things she does." He shrugs. "Maybe she's tired of us sniping at each other and thought forcing us to do something together would prompt us to reconcile our differences." Sitting back down in his chair, Laurence says, "That sounds way too motherly for Adelle, doesn't it?" He doesn't wait for my answer. "I definitely did not bring my A game today."

"I don't have a B game," I say, smiling at his rolled eyes. "That's why I know why the gang's all here."

"Are you going to tell me or just stand there acting smugly superior?" he asks, looking pretty much back in control and impossibly sexy sprawled in his chair.

"It all goes back to Adelle treating you like a possession," I say. "She treats you that way, because that's how she wants it to be."

"She wants to … possess me?" he asks. I nod sagely. He laughs. Hard. Not a surprised by finding my humor funny laugh. More of a 'Have you lost your mind, Topher' one.

When he quiets down, I adopt a British accent and ask, "Are you quite finished?"

"I'm not Adelle's type, Topher."

"How do you figure?" I challenge.

"She's attracted to power," he says, eyeing the headphones with distaste.

"You have power."

Laurence shakes his head. "Not the kind that makes her nipples hard."

"No accounting for taste," I mutter.

He opens his mouth, closes it, fiddles with the headset and takes another breath. "So why do you think she wants me, Topher?"

_He sounds like he thinks I'm playing him. That's a development of the not good kind._ "Because we …" I gesture to him and to me. "We're co-handling secret agent sex kitten." _Houston, we have reestablished proper attentiveness._

"Go on," Laurence says.

"She couldn't send just you," I say, enamored of the elegance of my theory, among other things, of course. "Back up. Let's say she did, Laurence. You're here alone and Sierra's doing her number on you. She starts up with her jerk off tutorial and …" I prompt him with my hands to complete my sentence.

He nods. "I might have been tempted to follow along. To the point where she made him stop anyway."

"But with Topher here, the Sierra Says game is decidedly not an option."

"Ok," Laurence says. "That tracks."

"Say you manage to resist going solo while on solo handler duty. Sierra comes back to the van and she's all cuddle up on your lap, whisper nasty things in your ear and tempt you with those lovely lips." _I'm getting juiced watching Laurence think. Kinky._ "Why not let her straddle you in that chair and make you see God? Who's going to know? Sierra won't tell, because secret agents aren't known for the fullness of their disclosure. But, again, not an option with Topher underfoot. So … you're going to return to the Dollhouse practically shaking with the need to release the pressure Sierra's built up. And who do you suppose is going to demand a debriefing before you can hit the colder than cold shower?"

"Wouldn't you be at the debriefing too?" he asks.

"Not a chance in hell," I say. Considering further, I say, "Or maybe for five or ten minutes, only to be dismissed so she can get her British hands on your vulnerable, ever so revved up person and blame you for it afterward."

"Me?" Laurence asks.

_I'm guessing confusion is fueling that frown_.

"How do I get the blame?" he demands.

"Think, L-man," I say, sidling a little closer. He either doesn't notice or doesn't mind. Tabling that interesting thought, I say, "She's not going to make the first move, not overtly. If she did, that'd be a declaration of interest. Something you might be able to use against her."

Laurence looks at my monitor, but I'm pretty sure he isn't really seeing it. "So she offers me a drink, sits down beside me and …" He shakes his head and focuses on me. "And she does what you did."

_My turn to ride the confusion train._ "Huh?" I ask.

"Rubs my back, assuming you're right and she wants to touch me. Once I relax a little or a lot depending on how patient she is, there're hundreds of little things she could do to up the ante. A fingernail dragging along the base of my throat. Her breast brushing against my arm as she … ah … stop that, Topher."

"Just trying to determine the possible success rate of the fingernail base of throat strategy," I say, emoting pure scientific inquiry for all I'm worth.

"I wonder how close to overt she'd get," Laurence muses.

I stare at him. Feeling my gaze, Laurence looks over. Trying for concerned eyes, I cup his chin in my hand, "You seem distant, Laurence, she'd say," I say. "Are you all right?" I brush the back of my other hand along his cheek.

_I swear his eyes just got bluer._ A hand on each shoulder, I stare into them. Fingers absently tracing patterns on his shirt, I say, "She'd ask you what your problem was in that accent, speaking softly, slowly," I say. I step back and shrug. "With enough proximity and touching, even someone as disciplined as you will give in."

"It follows, Topher," Laurence says, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "But the whole thing's twisted, even for Adelle."

I take his hands and lower them to the arms of his chair. Blessing the memory of Ben—he of the Midas touch—I say, "Let me do that."

Those fabulous blue eyes meet mine, as my fingers replace his on his temples. _I like the willingness, Laurence. The acceptance that I can do more than talk with my hands. I most definitely am on board with that. _He keeps his eyes open as I begin.

"I should check in," he murmurs, taking up the headphones, unconsciously squaring his shoulders. "Just to be sure we're on plan."

"Sure," I whisper, applying gentle pressure in a slow circular motion.

He holds one earphone to his right ear, listens for a minute, maybe slightly longer.

I can't resist. "What's going on?" I ask.

"He's crying," Dominic says, eyes drifting closed.

"Say what?" I ask, dynamiting his eyes open again. It takes him a few moments to focus.

"The guy's crying. He came all over her lingerie and she's throwing a serious tantrum."

"Wow," I say. "Sierra made that Neanderthal cry?"

"You'd be crying if she'd laid into you like that," Laurence says.

"What about you?" I ask, smiling at his surrender to what I'm doing to his temples.

"I don't cry," he says, voice slow, lazy, relaxed.

"Why not?" I ask.

"My dad beat the impulse out of me at an early age," Laurence says.

_Jesus. That was a question too far._ "Sorry," I say as he sits up and moves his head out of my reach.

"Ancient history, Topher."

"So that's three things about you I know that DeWitt doesn't," I whisper, watching Dominic out of the corner of my eye. "Five if I count the three ladies separately." I go for broke in the change of subject category. "Give me a couple of details on the single mom and the intellectual so my five count feels right."

"The single mom repaired Harleys, had the sexiest voice imaginable and made the best vegetarian lasagna on the planet. The other was a Rhodes Scholar with a tattoo at the base of her spine and pierced nipples."

"The tat?" I ask, morbidly fascinated that Laurence Dominic had a private life at all, much less one that was actually private.

"Hieroglyphics," he says.

"Meaning?" I ask.

"She said they meant 'Take Command' or something like that."

"Speaking of which," I say. "The way I see it, you have five choices, Laurence."

"About what?" he asks, looking at something he'd drawn on a piece of paper earlier.

"Damn the torpedoes and tear off DeWitt clothes. Go toe to toe with DeWitt and pray she gives up before you give in. Put on a show for me with Sierra when she gets back to the van and take your lumps from DeWitt for it. I go for a walk and you deal. Or you let me assist you in resolving the matter." I smile at the number of expressions crossing Laurence's face before slightly open mouthed disbelief takes over.

* * *

I pull myself together. "We need to get back to Sierra," I say. For the first time in recorded history, Topher doesn't argue. I put the headphones on and Sierra and Raphael are talking. Actually talking. I pull my pad of paper toward me and start to take notes. We need specifics. Names, dates, confirmation that certain pieces are included in the shipments. We get generalities. "Sometime in November. A long lost uncle of mine arranged it. The baby is arriving with the bathwater." _What the hell does that mean?_

"Anything?" Topher asks, dutifully attending to his monitor.

Before I can speak, Raphael does. "Jackpot," I whisper, grinning at Topher. _Ok, not ideal, but he's the only one here and we're golden!_ "He's bragging and we're going to get it all."

"Good, I guess," Topher says, resting a hand back on my shoulder. I try not to hope he'll recommence the massage.

Scribbling frantically, I mentally tally the information Raphael is spewing forth with what we'd suspected. Seventeen shipments set to arrive over the next six days. That's two more than we thought. _No problem. We can cover them all._

"Ok," Topher says with remarkably little enthusiasm. "So we're done here."

"It's all over but the shouting," I say, checking the audio feeds to be sure we've captured Raphael's relevant soliloquy.

"The shouting?" Topher asks.

"Well, she can't leave yet, can she?" Laurence says. "How obvious would that be? Oh, I finally got you to spill your guts about your operations, baby. So I'll be running along. I have an emergency crown replacement scheduled for this evening." I wince as I realize I mimicked Sierra's vocal cadence exactly—a bad habit of mine. A sidelong glance at Topher reveals no sudden shock or suspicion. _Good._

"How long do you think we have, Laurence?" Topher asks, hands nervously moving across his keyboard without touching it.

"An hour at least," I say.

"Plenty of time," Topher says, fingers flying ever faster.

"For what, Topher?" I ask, distracted momentarily by another idea with respect to my condo remodel.

'To adjust your attitude," the science geek says. "For the better," he adds. "Unless you want to return to the Dollhouse as sexual cannon fodder."

One part of my mind screams to tell him to take a walk, but the more pragmatic lobes of my brain wonder if that's the right choice. _Topher's the key to the tech. Wouldn't it be prudent to be able to turn it in the lock from time to time?_ "I'm fine," I mutter.

"No, you aren't," Topher says. "But you could be spiffed back up in no time at all."

"Take a walk," I say, not looking at him, daring him to try to change my mind. Those hands find my shoulders again and my control slips a notch. "I … I'm … I don't think I'm ready for this," I say.

Topher slips into the chair beside me. _Both of us can fit in this chair?_ His hands cup my face and his lips find mine. _Damn, he kisses like someone who knows what he's trying to accomplish._ I stare at him in disbelief. Topher kisses me again and again. _He's a persistent shit; I'll give him that._ I make him work for my response. I frustrate him. I avoid him. I duck him. I deny him. All the better to have him where I want him when I give in. I make it count when I do. I sell it. I'm aggressive, demanding, needy, receptive and Topher has no idea what to do with all that. _So … damn, he takes them on one at a time and does each justice. Fuck._ I lean back, breathing hard.

"Relax, Laurence," Topher says. "I'm going to explore a little. That's all. I swear."

His lips graze the corner of my mouth, work down to my chin, along my jaw. Biting down the length of my throat, Topher licks his way to my breastbone and down to the point where he encounters my shirt. Innocent eyes meet mine, but I'm beginning to wonder just how experienced he actually is when it comes to sex.

"Can I?" Topher asks, toying with the button on my shirt. Staring at me, he leans down and unfastens it with his teeth. My hips hitch in response. Smiling, he kisses down to the next button and repeats the procedure and again and again. He draws a pattern with his tongue on my abdomen as he pulls my shirt out of my pants and works the final button with his fingers.

"Christ," I whisper as Topher unbuckles my belt with his teeth, smiling around the buckle as he uses those fucking incisors to pull the leather out of the loops. Discarding the belt, Topher rests his cheek on my erection and I groan. Smiling, Topher rubs his cheek along my length.

"You like?" he whispers.

"God, yeah," I hear myself say. _A little dignity, Dom. Christ!_

He unbuttons my pants, carefully slides down the zipper. Hands slipping into intimate contact to distract me, Topher encourages me to lift once to get rid of the pants, a second time to lose the boxers. Now he has unimpeded access and I have no defense. Sierra has robbed me of anything I might have brought to bear and I can feel the pressure building inside me already.

"Do you want my hand or my mouth?" Topher whispers.

"Both," I say. "I want both." His mouth at the tip makes me frantic. The hand at the base drives me insane. And he keeps the dual stimulations just enough out of rhythm that I can't come. I lose track of time. I can't remember why I'm here or even where here is. All I know is that I need this. "More," I moan. Suddenly, the actions are syncopated and I'm rocketing toward fulfillment. I can't stop. I don't want to. The orgasm hits me in waves, each diminishing in power from the tsunami start extending the pleasure for an almost unbearable time. My throat aches a bit from the effort to maintain Laurence Dominic's trademark vocal control. My eyes are open, but I can't focus them. _Christ Almighty, who knew Topher had it in him. _

"Wow," Topher whispers, collapsing in his own chair, taking himself to hand. "I'll see you like this every time I close my eyes for months. Exactly like this."

"Like what?" I ask, wondering how Topher will describe my post blow job lassitude in his current state.

"Sexy. Vulnerable. Exposed."

_The last is not a word I'm particularly comfortable with._ I frown.

"Please," Topher groans. "Please, can I … look at you?"

_How in the hell do you propose I stop you in this enclosed space?_ "Sure," I whisper, watching Topher work himself over as he stared at me. I try to muster the will to move. Impressed by the discipline in Topher's slow sure motions, I lean my head back, deliberately exposing my throat.

Topher whispers, "Oh God," before lapsing into a series of soft, needy sounds, eerily reminiscent of Sierra's.

Picking one of the middle buttons at random, I straighten my shirt to line it up with the appropriate button hole.

"Don't," Topher says. Tone shifting from sharp to whine, he says, "Please leave it open."

I look him directly in the eye. Topher jumps like he touched a live wire. He mouths my name but doesn't actually say it.

_Kristen always got off on this. _ Not questioning the impulse to liken Topher to the single mom I'd told him about, I sharpen my gaze from dazed to amused.

Hand moving more rapidly and with a purpose, Topher's mouth falls open but, miraculously, no words tumble out.

After a few calculated aborted attempts, I smile in what Kristen called a slow developing, extremely sexy, totally alpha male way. Topher loses it with surprisingly little verbiage. Getting dressed while Topher cleans himself up, I consider the options for moving forward. "Where's my tie?" I ask.

"Next … next to my console," Topher says.

Not looking at him, I put the tie back on and knot it perfectly. Picking up the headphones, I listen for a few minutes. "Sounds like Sierra's leading up to her exit line," I say. Tossing the headphones aside, I don my suit jacket, tear off the piece of paper with my condo remodel idea and put it in my pocket. I finally glance at Topher. He's looking up at me with wide eager eyes. "This changes nothing, Topher. You know that, right?"

He nods. "I don't want to give DeWitt any leverage, Laurence."

_What?_

My question must've been plain in my expression, because Topher continues, "There are things I won't do. Lines I won't cross. I don't want to give her a way to force me."

"I'll get in your face at every opportunity," I say.

"I'll mock your intellect and undermine your seriousness with inappropriate humor," Topher says, as a tremulous smile makes an appearance.

"Business as usual," I say, glancing around for my pen.

Tone too casual, Topher asks, "Any chance I might visit that house or apartment or both that DeWitt doesn't know about and you never mentioned?"

"Stranger things have happened."

Topher grins. "Have they?" he asks.

Flush with the success of my pen hunt and other activities, I contemplate. "I think they just did," I finally say.

"They're about to again," Topher says, grin getting broader, approaching manic again. "You're right, Laurence."

* * *

"How did Topher perform in the field, Mr. Dominic?" Adelle DeWitt asks, as she, Dominic and I watch Ivy wipe Sierra's imprint.

Dominic sighs and crosses his arms in front of him. "As much as this pains me to say, Topher performed adequately, ma'am."

"Adequate!" I shout. "You call that adequate?" I navigate around Laurence to present my case to DeWitt who, needless to say, has been watching Laurence closely ever since he carried our sleeping beauty, secret agent sex kitten into the Dollhouse. "I," I say, gesturing to myself with both hands. "I performed splendidly. Brilliantly even."

"Someone is full of himself today," Laurence says in a deadpan tone with snide flowing through it.

"Someone is seriously full of something else," I grumble. _Did Laurence just hide a smile with that cough?_

"And Sierra's performance?" DeWitt asks.

Shrugging, Laurence says, "She got the job done."

I struggle not to grin at DeWitt's narrowed eyes. _Someone doesn't agree with you, Laurence. Sierra did not fulfill her mission parameter of rendering Laurence Dominic eminently seducible._

"I see," DeWitt says, taking Laurence's elbow, steering him out of my lair. They stop right outside, so I have a perfect view of the exchange.

DeWitt smiles up at Laurence and says something. L-Man looks puzzled. She tilts her head, skepticism personified. Shaking his head, Laurence gestures vaguely toward … me. _What's up with that, Laurence?_ Her expression says she isn't buying what he'd just said, so Laurence starts talking again. He grips the railing, hand swooping down from above at the correct angle. He repeats the maneuver, as though demonstrating something to DeWitt, and leaves his hand there. DeWitt puts her hand on top of his.

"You can stop staring, Topher," Ivy says, the look on her face half way between amused and nauseated.

"I wasn't staring," I say, panic descending like an anvil in an old Looney Tunes cartoon, sweeping away my anger.

"I know there's cleavage today, but you might pretend to be professional," Ivy says. "Just for a change of pace."

My eyes leave their target to dart to DeWitt. The seriously scoop neck silk tank comes as a shock. I blush because I hadn't noticed. Ivy laughs but stops abruptly. "He looks mad," she whispers, almost as though she was afraid of Laurence overhearing.

"He looks more than mad," I say, annoyed to see tension reestablishing its hold on those shoulders.

Laurence's jaw moves as if he's grinding his teeth. His entire body seems poised to explode into motion and not necessarily in a concerted way. Abruptly, he turns away from DeWitt and looks straight at me. I smile and wave. Laurence glances over his shoulder, undoubtedly making a rude comment about me to DeWitt. She opens her mouth to reply, but he's already moving. I lean forward to get a better look at his retreating back—yes, his back, but DeWitt blocks my view as she, uncharacteristically, strides to catch up with Laurence.

"So how was it?" Ivy asks, eyeing me curiously. "Working in the field."

"It was … interesting," I say.

"You live, so I guess you weren't too annoying." Smiling, Ivy says, "I think Ms. DeWitt expected some sort of confrontation between the two of you."

Grinning, I say, "Who says there wasn't?"

"No visible bruises," Ivy ventures.

_Might be a very slight one on Laurence's throat._ "As stipulated," I say. Wondering what flavor of juice box I want, I say, "I made him laugh."

"Mr. Dominic?" Her disbelief strikes me as hilariously funny.

"Yep."

"How?" she whispers, looking in the direction Dominic and DeWitt had gone.

"Speculating about his sex life," I say, marveling at the look of fascination admixed with utter and abject horror on Ivy's face.

"He has a sex life?" she asks. "I've never thought of him as having a sex life. Now I will." Glaring, she says, "I blame you, Topher."

Knowing Laurence will be pissed, I say, "He also has a house or an apartment or both that DeWitt doesn't know about and that he never mentioned to me, because the subject of multiple residences never came up."

"Dominic has a private sex life?" Ivy squeaks. "He just leaped high up on my list."

"List?" I ask, heart suddenly pounding.

"Doables," Ivy says. "I wonder if he likes younger, smart, non arm candy women."

"Maybe he likes guys," I say, mischief maker persona in full force.

"No way," Ivy says, looking down her nose at me somehow even though she's shorter.

We laugh together at the thought.

* * *

I stalk into Topher's domain. He and Ivy glance up with an appropriate amount of alarm, although Ivy has a look in her eye I've not seen before. Stepping between them, I face Ivy. "Ms. DeWitt would like you to evaluate Sierra's imprint from her last engagement."

"Ok," Ivy says, sharing a fleeting uncomprehending glance with Topher, telling me Topher had shifted to my right to see around me.

"It seems," I say, pausing for dramatic effect. "Well, let me put it this way. Ms. DeWitt can't understand the lack of impact of Sierra's imprint on those observing her interactions." I gesture to Topher and sigh. "She fails to appreciate the soporific effect of incessant Topher babble."

Ivy laughs and looks up at me with expressive brown eyes. Topher clears his throat. I hear the warning shot across my bow, but there's something compelling in her expression. I'm tempted to smile at her, but I don't. Instead, I offer the file folder in my hand and say, "She'd like your report by this time tomorrow, if at all possible."

"Of course," Ivy says, accepting the file. "Is there anything else?" she asks.

"No," I say, suddenly uncomfortably uncertain. _Are all science types hot if you're in the right frame of mind?_

"Too bad," she whispers as she turns away.

_Damn!_ I follow her progress, denying any appreciation of the sway of her hips. She looks over her shoulder, catches me watching and smiles as she leaves the room.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" Topher asks, voice soft yet tight.

_I'm trying to make use of what I've done. Trying to make sense of it. Pretending this role I'm playing isn't unraveling, coming apart at the fucking seams._ Rounding on Topher, eyes blazing with anger, I use my advantage in height and weight to force the neuroscientist to retreat until he falls back onto the chair. "Nothing has changed," I snarl, not long on volume, not short on hostility.

"Not a thing," Topher squeaks.

Eyes shifting from hot to cold, I lean over until I'm nose to nose with Topher. Voice low, intense, I say, "Dinner Friday."

"Back up, Laurence," Topher says, eyes wide, the easy interpretation being with fear.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I say, unsure to what I'm actually referring.

"You bet," Topher says.

"What's going on?" Ivy says, reentering the room, looking alarmed.

"Strange things," I say, straightening my posture and my tie.

"Stranger things," Topher says, leaping out of the chair, moving to hide behind Ivy.

Satisfied with appearances, I scowl at Topher and leave.

THE END


End file.
